


Scratch ‘n Sniff

by tattooeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back from the mental institution, all Sam wants is to shave. Cue awesome big brother Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch ‘n Sniff

The razor sits on the counter, shiny and mocking. Sam can almost hear it laughing at him. He scowls at the instrument before looking back at himself in the mirror. His beard immediately starts itching again. He tries scratching at it with the palms of his hands, but it doesn't feel as good as his fingers and nails would. Bloody demon. The sharp edge of the cabinet next to his head catches his eye and he hesitates only a second.

"Fuck it."

He leans in and rubs his scratchy cheeks against the side of the cabinet door. A deep moan escapes him at the sweet relief. It doesn't last long though; the second he stops rubbing against the cabinet, the itch is back. He needs to shave that beard, now.

The razor is still mocking him from its place on the counter. He looks at his hands again, and realizes again it is just not happening. And he hasn't even thought of what to do with the greasy mop of what is supposed to be hair on top of his head. If it doesn't get washed soon, it's gonna create a whole new life form from all the nasty bacteria in it. Still, the thought of doing anything with his raw, cracked hands and nails makes him cringe. This is gonna hurt like hell.

Afraid of making a decision, he stares at into the mirror. He looks tired, drained, exhausted. And sane. No Lucifer talking non-stop nonsense. No singing of Stairway To Heaven, no megaphones blaring in his ears, no hellfire around him. It's quiet, yet his mind is still spinning. Swirling with guilt over leaving Cas with his crazy. Guilt over breaking down on Dean. Guilt over not being there when Dean was confronted with Emmanuel and Cas. He sighs, more things he can't make up for.

"Stop agonizing Samantha and hop on the counter."

Sam gets startled out of his musing by Dean pushing into his space. Dean forcefully turns him around and crowds up in his space, pushing Sam against the counter. He must have made some kind of confused sound, because Dean smirks in that way that says he's got new blackmail material. Sam's glad for Dean's lightheartedness right now. He's got enough drama of his own and Dean knows that. Instead, he leaves Sam and his issues be for the time being and just helps. Right now, he helps Sam shave apparently.

"I said hop up, come on."

Sam shakes his head with a chuckle, but does as Dean says. The counter groans a little under his weight and they both freeze for a moment, waiting for the counter to give, but it stays up. Dean nods when it doesn't collapse and Sam settles in. The tap digs into his side a little, but he reckons it might actually be a good distraction to the pain his fingers are going to cause him later. He cringes again just thinking about it.

"Don't worry, Sammy, I'll try to be gentle and not cut you too bad."

Sam scowls at Dean, but there's no heat in it. He won't admit to it out loud, but he loves Dean for not measuring his words around Sam. He makes blood jokes with a grin instead of tiptoeing around the subject. He's pretty sure he would scream if Dean treated him like the time bomb he is. Was. May be.

"Alright, cream first."

Dean lathers the shaving cream in his hands before rubbing it on Sam's cheeks and chin. The cream is already refreshing, easing the itch a little, and suddenly Sam is so grateful for Dean's help a lump forms in his throat and tears gather in his eyes. Dean meets his eyes and his face softens, along with his voice.

"I know, Sammy. Don't mention it."

Sam looks away with a nod. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek and swallows past the lump in his throat a few times. Dean waits patiently until Sam looks up and gives him a small smile.

"Okay. Now hold still, I have a razor in my hand."

Sam freezes where he sits. Dean puts the razor high on Sam's cheek and slides it down with a light pressure. The relief is instant. When Dean lifts the razor off Sam heaves a sigh and smirks.

"Man, that feels good."

Dean laughs and moves to the patch of skin next to the now clean-shaven one. The razor slides down smoothly, the cold air cool against Sam's itchy skin. The silence in the small bathroom is only interrupted by the splashing of water where Dean rinses off the cream from the razor every few strokes. It lulls Sam into a sense of security; the silence, his brother close, safety.

Dean quickly finishes shaving Sam and then cleans the remaining flecks of cream off with a towel. He rubs some lotion on Sam's skin before grinning at him.

"Welcome back, baby brother."

Sam groans.

"I want to say I should have kept the beard and maintained the rugged, older look, but I haven't been itch-less for days. It feels too good. Thanks, Dean."

"Like I said, don't mention it. So. Hands?"

Sam winces, but obediently holds out his hands to Dean. Dean inspects them closely without touching them too much, without hurting Sam too much.

"I think we can just clean it up and bandage it and you'll be alright. One nail looks like it might fall off, but I'm not gonna pull it off. We'll patch it up and see what happens, okay?"

Sam nods, relieved. He's not sure he can take much more torture. He watches as Dean gets out antiseptic and bandages before picking up Sam's right hand and inspecting it again. Sam tenses more the closer the antiseptic wipe gets to his finger and Dean mumbles something apologetic as it touches Sam's first finger. Pain shoots through Sam's finger and hand; it's so searing hot Sam has to close his eyes and breath through his nose to avoid yelling out.

"Count to twenty."

Thankfully, Dean works fast and by the time Sam;s at seventeen, Dean's done with the antiseptic. Sam pries his eyes open and blinks away the tears. He can't look at his hands though, suddenly afraid of the damage there. Instead, he stares at the ceiling while Dean bandages his fingers. Dean squeezes his thigh lightly to signal he's done and Sam lowers his head to see where he can jump off the counter.

When Dean turns to step out of the bathroom, Sam grabs him by the arm. He blushes when Dean lifts an eyebrow; he feels ridiculous asking for help with washing his hair, but if he doesn't do this now, bugs will be living on his head by morning. He wiggles his bandaged fingers at Dean and gestures at the tub with his head.

"Mind helping me one more time?"

Dean's other eyebrow joins its twin high up Dean's forehead and Sam rushes to explain.

"Just my hair, you perv."

Dean leers at him jokingly.

"Next time then, tiger?"

It turns out Sam can still slap Dean, even with his beat up hands.

"Okay, get naked and in the tub then. I'll get your shampoo."

Sam awkwardly pulls his clothes off, careful not to bumps his hands into anything or rip off his bandages. It takes some special moves that he didn't know he had, but then his clothes are off and he's naked. Mission accomplished. He's sitting on the edge of the tub when Dean comes back with the motel towels and the shampoo. He's stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and Sam remembers it's laundry night. Laundry night; he never thought he'd have something as simple as laundry night again. The lump in his throat is suddenly back and he can't prevent his eyes from leaking tears again. He furiously wipes at his eyes.

"Sorry."

Dean just rolls his eyes and gestures for Sam to get in the tub. He takes the shower head off the hinge and starts the water. Sam feels five again; his big brother sitting next to the tub, preparing a bath for Sam after a long day of playing outside and scraping his knees. Same lump in his throat, same tears falling, same feeling of failure and sadness. Only this time it's not from falling off his bike without the training wheels.

"Sammy?"

"Huh?"

Dean grins.

"You were thinking of getting naked with me, weren't you?"

Sam glares at Dean, ridiculously grateful for the joke.

"No! Sjeesh, if I didn't know better, I'd think you wanted to get me in bed!"

"Shut up, Sasquatch and give me your hands."

Sam puts his hands on the sides of the tub to keep them out of the way of the water and bends his head so Dean can get the now warm water to splash over his head. The temperature is amazing and Sam groans a little at the glorious feeling. He hears Dean chuckle, but he doesn't care, really. Anyone in his place would have moaned with pleasure at the feeling of days of grime being washed away. The water disappears for a few moments and then Dean's hands are in his hair; his fingers are massaging his scalp, getting the shampoo in deep. Sam groans again, it just feels so good to be clean again. No itchy beard, no bleeding nails, no greasy hair.

Dean rinses the suds from his head before turning the water off and wrapping a towel around Sam's head.

"Come on, up you go."

Dean hauls Sam up by the armpits and Sam wants to protest that he can do it, but Dean is already helping him out of the tub and rubbing him down with a second towel. He hands Sam a shirt and sweatpants and then exits the bathroom.

"Yell if you need anything, okay? I'm just gonna get your bed ready."

Get his bed ready? Sam decides he doesn't want to know. Now that the annoying beard is gone and he feels clean, the exhaustion thunders over him again. He sways on his feet and if he doesn't get in that bed soon, he's gonna keel over right here. He struggles in his clothes and maybe his shirt is on backwards, but he can't care. All he wants right now is a bed and at least ten hours of interrupted sleep. He uses his last drop of energy to get himself out the bathroom and into his bed; the bed that's already turned down with the pillow fluffed. Sam smirks, even as his eyes drop closed of their own accord.

"You'll make a great wife one day, Dean."

The "I love you" is implied.


End file.
